Pretending to be fancy and contemplating beheadings

Woke up at the Palmer House, muddled from sleep and also from the fancier-than-me surroundings. We are pretending to be people who frequent such establishments, making us feel a bit like spies and even more like anthropologists, studying the habits of the rich and famous. Pretty boring, actually. 

There is a mandatory Covid test prior to getting on the ocean liner in New York and Mom and I have been trying to stay away from unmasked folks, since you know, we don't want to miss the boat. So breakfast (and all other meals) was delivered by Door Dash, and when I say "delivered" I actually mean that a car pulled up outside the swanky Palmer House entrance with bellhops staring all side-eyed while I ran out to grab our goods from the passenger seat of a bright blue hatchback. This is how we do it, Chicago. Don't complain.

Mid-morning found us on the mezzanine level of the Palm where Mom and I read books in expensive chairs, with our legs crossed neatly in sophisticated poses. Mom found a prop wine glass (actually a real wine glass, complete with a lipstick stain, left from the night before) and used it in a photo, thus appearing to fit in with her surroundings. Also, I skulked around checking out paths less traveled in the hotel. This led me to a Palmer House museum, which was closed. BUT the walls were all glass so I was able to see inside and take in the history of Palmer (pretty sure there was a guy named Palmer) and his deluxe hotel of yesteryear.

Today's entertainment was quite conveniently located one block from the hotel. We went to see the touring Broadway musical SIX and it was good. The six wives of Henry the 8th performed a sing-off for the crowd, each vying for the title of 'saddest marriage to Henry'. Two were beheaded, Anne Boleyn and the other one, so they pretty much win. The wives were all decked out in sparkly, Beyonce-type outfits (well, maybe not Beyonce...I don't know my diva singers' fashion as well as perhaps I should). Let's just say this. There was glitter, fringe, plunging necklines and hiiigggghhh-heeled shoes involved. Is that like Beyonce? I am now admitting that I can't think of even one Beyonce song. I mean, I know she's legendary and can sing a song of sixpence (six - see what I did there?) but my hermit-like nature and aversion to, well, almost everything, has me lacking in this space. But I digress...

The evening was spent in our hotel room, which looks straight out of a Poirot episode, so much so that I fear someone may have to get murdered. Oh - also I tried to put my leftover Poke Poke in the room fridge. It was filled with beverages and snacks, so I moved some of them out, figuring that I'd just put them back before we leave. Then I found out that the hotel charges you by using a sensor that can tell if you've removed anything. Even if you don't consume it! So lesson learned, I am allegedly now the proud owner of a Coke and a Sprite, which likely costs more than a share of Twitter today. 

I kind of suck at being fancy so far, and we haven't even made it onto the Titanic, er, Queen Mary 2 yet. Gonna have to sharpen my game.